Dependable
by SpiritBearr
Summary: Jim is badly hurt. As usual, Bones puts him back together again.


**Title: Dependable**

**Disclaimer: Own it, I do not. (Yoda, also, does not belong to me.) **

**Summary: Jim is, once again, badly hurt. As usual Bones has to put him together again. **

**A/N: There are a few things I like playing with in the TOS universe I don't feel get enough attention; there's a very obvious pattern in my stories. This is one such thing. I hope I do it well, without turning it sappy or OOC. Reviews are much loved. ^_^**

**Dependable**

He sits with his head in his hands, his eyes closed, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the scanners and monitors hooked up to Jim in such quantity that he looks like some kind of cyborg. Leonard McCoy passed 'exhausted' about two hours ago-'worried' two hours before that. He's done all he can, and now it's up to Jim.

Why does it seem that every normal, peaceful negotiations situation eventually will turn ugly? McCoy can name off only a bare handful that worked without a hitch- and this was clearly not one of them. No, he locals of this planet were a violent, war-like people, in a state of anarchy. Starfleet had sent them to try and end the killing amongst themselves, and see about setting up the planet as part of the Federation.

But the differences between the warring factions of the planet were too strong. The leaders were too stubborn.

They had beamed down a very small landing party- small for safety's sake- and they'd come down unarmed and therein had been one of a few flaws in their plan. They'd done it because it was a 'show of good will' and 'good faith' and no one would listen to them unless they agreed to it. So weapons had been discarded, and of course when a few rebels had broken into the negotiations and blown things all to hell- somewhat literally, as they'd come in with explosives-the away team was caught helplessly in the middle. They were no less unwitting victims then the intended members of the attack, and just as defenseless. Said landing party consisted of Kirk, McCoy, Spock, and Uhura. Luckily, all of these people are intelligent, strong, trained, and capable. Unluckily, flaw number two in their plan was that they had wound up separated long before the attack, and after it happened, no one knew where the hell anyone else was for far too long.

Usually, this didn't happen; they stayed as a group in such a volatile situation. But McCoy was two buildings over, tending to victims of a war-torn planet. Uhura had, at least, been in the same _building_ as Kirk-but no less then ten feet from him. Not painfully far, but far enough so that when the first explosive went off she flew one direction and he the other.

Spock, rather overwhelmed, McCoy assumes, by the crush of people in the buildings, had been outside in the street itself. He'd been the first of the away team to go-the street opening up under him as the world imploded. McCoy had _seen_ him go, had just happened to be coming out himself when fire had debrie had flown, and the entire world had tipped wrong-side-up and all he'd seen was the ground crack and fissure under Spock's feet and dozens of other people's feet and then they'd been gone. Almost all of them. By the time Leonard had found his balance again and the world had stopped bucking like an unbroken stallion, it had been pure chaos, and there had been no sign of the slender half breed. Swearing like a sailor, thanking God- no cursing or sarcasm here, McCoy had actually breathed a prayer of thanks- that the fissure was not deep, he'd pulled his friend out carefully.

Spock had, thanks mostly to his Vulcan physiology, been largely unhurt. Broken ribs, some abrasions and cuts, bruises, a broken wrist, but nothing much worse. They'd turned in perfect unison to look at the building negotiatons were being held in just in time to watch the entire top of it crumple and fold in on itself like a house of cards or dominos that had gotten stacked too high. They had moved in unison, too, both of them knowing who was in that building. Knowing how likely it was both of them were alive-which was, _not very_.

They'd found Uhura first, her skull spilling blood but her pulse strong, half-buried under two young residents of the planet not as lucky and heavy debris. Jim had been missing nearly two full days after that, and they'd found him _under_ the building, along with a few other bodies. He'd only found Jim when he'd offered to help tend to those who'd been wounded in the attack. He'd been so badly burned that McCoy hadn't even recognized him at first, only knowing it at _Jim_ when he'd opened his eyes, because no one but Jim Kirk had such stunning gold-hazel eyes.

They'd been beamed up to the _Enterprise_ to at last add the captian to McCoy's list of survivors, but not one so lucky as Uhura or Spock.

:"He was close," Uhura had told him, once he'd gotten Jim stabilized after hours of surgery and working to heal and replace ruined and skin and tissue and muscle and and bone. She still bore bandages and wasn't allowed out of sickbay, herself, but she was on her way to recovery. "It went off practically in his face. He was- he was trying to talk the man who had it down."

Because that was such a typically _Jim_ thing to do, McCoy wasn't surprised when she told him this.

Now he sits next to the man who has been unconscious for weeks. Well, drifting in and out of it- but he never knows them. His hair has grown back somewhat, and his eyebrows- the regenerators are doing an acceptable job on the burnt and ruined flesh, but some of that is just gonna have to work it's own self out. He sighs and lifts his head from his hands.

"C'mon, Jim." He whispers, looking at the unconscious form of his best friend. But Jim simply lays, silent as death- _shit, McCoy, bad choice of words_- and still. The monitors beep, the machines wirr, and McCoy simply drops his head into his hands again.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but it's the shrill wailing of the same said electronics that snaps him awake, heart racing, breath catching, as _oh shit no please Jim- _but it's okay, it's _alright_, because Jim is sitting up and looking at his dazedly and sheepishly. And he _sees him_.

"_Damn it_, Jim, what the _hell_ are you doing?" The words rip from his throat before he can stop them and he knows instantly it's too rough, too raw. Jim's head snaps up, back, his hazel eyes _very much_ aware and awake and, for an instant, hot with embarrassed anger.

"Moving." He replies, and his voice is as calm as his eyes are not. "I had to-"

"I don't care if you _had to_ go save the damn universe, Jim, when you wake up attached to five different machines common sense says _stay the hell still_!"

Jim blinks, reaches out, and calmly levers himself back into a laying position. The machines go quiet. "There. Okay? There."

"Not okay." McCoy snarls, and is hovering over Jim in a heartbeat, scanning and prodding gently to make sure Jim hasn't broken something open or reinsured himself some other way. "Do you _know_ how long I've been waiting for you to wake up?"

"And this is the reception I get?" Jim's trying to be funny, lips twisted in his charmingly boyish grin, but that's never worked on McCoy and it sure as hell isn't going to now. He slaps his hand against the bed, only distantly aware he's shaking.

"What where you _thinking_?" He hisses, and Jim shrugs one shoulder.

"I was thinking that if I could stop someone from killing everyone in the room, it might be a good thing." He replies raspily. "Bones, can I get water, please?"

Right. Water. Of course Jim wanted water.

McCoy is half tempted to dump it over his _head_.

Instead he lifts a cup, guiding the straw to Jim's lips. "Slow." He says gently, proping the man's head up. "Easy, _easy_, Jim, slow." He has to repeat, and guilt kicks him in the stomach when his friend drinks as if he hasn't in weeks. He let his anger get in the way of common sense.

Too bad Spock missed that little incident.

Jim lets his head drop back at last, eyes closing briefly. "'M tired." He says, voice breathy, and McCoy's lips thin. _Of course you are_, he wants to say, _you just fought your way from death's door._ "Rest, then." He says, but there is nothing gentle, nothing comforting in it.

_Why_ is he so _angry_? It's not like Jim hasn't done this a thousand times before, not like he won't do it a thousand times again.

Well, there. That's possibly why, maybe a little.

He snarls internally at himself and forces his hands gentle with Jim, who is staring at him intensely. "Bones?" He asks, and he sounds young and vulnerable in that moment, not Captain Kirk but Jim who is looking up at his surrogate big brother with a gently furrowed brow-or what's left of it, anyway- and hurt confusion in his golden eyes.

McCoy refuses to meet that steady hazel stare. "C'mon." Jim tries again. "Bones. What would you have me have done?"

"_Not_," He hears himself snarl, "get five feet away from a maniac with a _bomb_, Jim."

"Wasn't a bomb." Jim tries, as if it's some kind of defense. He coughs, clears his throat, and shifts painfully on the sickbay bed.

"Oh, well, in that case, _excuse me_." He snarls. "I'm just an ol' country doctor that don't know the difference between a _bomb_ and anything else that blows half a man's face off!"

"…..That's not how I meant it and you know that." He doesn't sound tired anymore. "I didn't know he had an explosive."

"Oh, so no bombs, but any other weapon and the immortal Jim Kirk is okay with it?"

"Oh, for-! I don't think I'm _immortal_."

"No?" He keeps working as he speaks, all the way up until Kirk grabs his shoulders and forces him still. "You sure as _hell_ could have fooled me."

Jim looks at him steadily, his hazel eyes half-lidded and foggy with exhaustion. "What was I supposed to do, Bones, just let someone walk in and start shooting? Or rather, blowing things up?"

"It happened anyway." McCoy growls, even though Jim has a point- he could no more do nothing then Bones could 'do nothing' when someone was hurt.

Jim's eyes lower, and he looks away again. "I know." He says softly, and McCoy bites back on the urge to kick himself. Hell, he's kicking _Jim_ hard enough, and the man is already hurt.

"Jim, look, I didn't-"

But Jim's eyes are closed, and McCoy sighs, lowering himself to the edge of the bed.

And suddenly, he's very, very angry.

_It's not fair_, he thinks, _no fair that so many people died, not fair that Jim risked so much in vain, not fair that we had to watch hundreds of men and women and babies die pointlessly, and it's __**not fair**__that Jim's mad at __**me**__ for one reason or another!_ And, just like that, he's whacked the bed. Machines scream. Jim jumps. Hazel eyes snap open as McCoy falls off the bed and for one, brief moment, there is total chaos in the sickbay as about ten nurses swarm them.

"It's alright," He hears himself growling sharply as they try to figure out just what's happened. "for heaven's sake, it's _fine_, the stupid scanners-"

They scatter as quickly as they came, and only Chapel remains around to gently help Bones to his feet. She's the only one that didn't rush in in a panic, and she's the only one who looks calm and amused and anything but confused.

"Welcome back, captain." She says calmly, once he's upright. Jim gives her a weak smile and tips one of his nearly-gone brows.

"Good to be back, Nurse. From what doctor McCoy tells me, it's been a while."

Her smile falters, and she looks over, meeting Leonard's eyes. He sees in them the same exhaustion, the same fear, the same wariness, the same pain that's been in his for the past few weeks, and feels the anger return in spades. Jim is laughing and joking and acting like he didn't just skirt death by inches-again-and that they didn't just witness a _massacre_ on a planet that never should have progressed to that point. Starfleet should have stepped in long before things ever got to that point- _but then, look at all the other planets Starfleet should have done something about sooner,_ he thinks, _Tarsus being only one. _

Chapel checks Jim's readings for a few moments, makes sure everything is alright, and at McCoy's word, takes her leave.

"Jim." McCoy says softly, when she's gone, "look, I'm sorry I-"

Jim holds up a hand, shaking his head slightly. "Don't worry about it, Bones." He says, trying the smile for his friend. McCoy wonders if Chapel saw how hollow and empty it is; McCoy has seen this smile more times then he'd like to count. It means Jim is hiding-hiding behind that smile like a mask.

"No, Jim, I shouldn't have-" He stops. He's a healer. He doesn't like to see people in pain, physical or any other kind of pain, and it's harder when it's someone he cares about. But, damnit, he's hurt here, too, for all the same reasons Jim is plus a few dozen more, and he's tired.

"It's alright. I'm alright." Gentle, low-always so gentle, Jim, with his friends. Easily forgiving, gentle, and loyal to a fault-and McCoy wants none of it now.

"Oh, you are, are you?" He snarls, snatching away from Jim's warm hand. It's as much to deprive Jim of the touch he hungers for- Jim has always been so physically oriented- as it is to distance Leonard and let him try to get his balance back. The look of hurt on Jim's face almost makes him move back. Almost. "And here I thought you were laying in my sickbay half dying."

Jim glances up at the bitter tone. "I didn't die, though." He points out calmly, and damn if the man isn't half-smiling, as if it's all some fun game. "You put ol' Humpty Dumpty together again, same as always."

And that's just enough to push him over.

"It's not a _joke_, Jim." He snarls. Jim's expression shifts to surprise and indignant annoyance, but McCoy pays it no attention. "You almost _died_ out there. I didn't even _recognize_ you at first, you were so badly burned!"

"I've almost died before. We all have. We've been over and over this, Bones. It's part of the job. Space is dangerous."

"This goes _beyond_ 'space is dangerous', Jim." McCoy has never heard himself growl like that. He doesn't recognize his own voice, and Jim has propped up on his elbows again, real concern written on his expressive face.

"Bones. McCoy. I was _doing my job_. Besides that-"

"_That_ was not your job." He smacks the bedside table this time, thankful when nothing wails a reprimand. "_That_ was you being a damn fool hero, or trying to! You have no sense of your own mortality, Jim!"

"_You have no idea!" _The roar is enough to make McCoy's ears ring, or maybe that's just the room, the echoes bouncing off walls. Quickly, he keys in the privacy code to lock the sickbay doors, knowing if _anyone_ heard that there's a very real chance Spock, at least, will be down in minutes. Jim's eyes are _blazing_, hot and dark gold like melted metal and there is a snarling warning in them, an alpha wolf putting his fangs to the throat of another and squeezing just hard enough, _just hard enough_. "That's _enough_, doctor McCoy." He adds, and his hands are fisted and good lord, he's not yelling anymore but that voice, that tone, send shivers down McCoy's spine.

And he meets Jim snarl for snarl, ripping his throat out of his alpha's teeth and crouching down with ears pinned. Submissive, always-even now, he is totally submissive- but with teeth of his own.

But then the words register, and he stops, closes his eyes and forces himself to take a breath. "What do you mean?" He asks softly, gently, and he doesn't, _by no means_ does he say what he's thinking, really. Because what he's thinking, really, is, _I've seen you bleeding, broken, crying, writhing, gasping, fevered, __**screaming**__ with pain, I've seen you dying and I've had you die and damn it Jim what about when I can't bring you back you stupid, stupid fool don't tell me what I do and don't know I know better then __**anyone**__-_

"I said drop it. That's an order, McCoy."

His jaw tenses and he forces himself _not_ to say, 'fuck you, sir', and walk out. Because there is only so far even Bones can push, Jim is _still_ his superior officer, and anyway, where would that get them? Nowhere, is where, and he doesn't _really_ want to say 'fuck you, sir' and walk out anyway. Well, okay, maybe he wants to say it- but not leave after. Because all that would do is hurt his career, his friendship, and solve nothing.

"Don't do that, Jim." He says instead, pleadingly, and it catches Jim so off guard that he visibly double-takes. That's not what he was expecting. "I don't want to speak to you as your chief medical officer. I'm here because you're _hurt_, damn it-and because I'm your friend, too-and Jim? You scared the hell out of me."

Jim blinks, then smiles, all the wild, hot anger in him melting away as his eyes soften and he smiles for real and he reaches out to touch McCoy's arm and Bones lets him. "Bones," He says, very gently, like soothing a wild creature himself. "you're here. I'll be alright."

"I'm not a miracle worker, Jim." He snaps, tiredly, sinking onto the edge of the bed again. "I'm not even the best healer in the world." All the things that mean the most have fallen through his hands. All but Jim and Spock-and yes, he can admit that- and he's terrified, _terrified_, that one day it will be Jim he can't save, or Spock who looks at him with solemn chocolate eyes and quietly asks to be put out of pain. That he will be-for the first time-_truly_ alone.

And it will be his own fault.

"Bones." Jim says again, "don't destroy the one named Leonard, either, alright?"

He blinks, does a double take of his own and tries to met the smile Jim is offering him. He can feel how badly it fails. "I'm not-"

"Yes, you are." Jim grunts, struggles to sit up further. The effort it coasts him has him shaking, and rather then push him flat scoldingly-he thinks he could do that with a finger, right now-Bones gently reaches out and cups one broad shoulder, presses his hand to the powerful back and eases Jim upright, lets him rest, panting softly, leaning against McCoy's shoulder. "You are, and it needs to stop." He says, when he catches his breath.

"I'm just stating a fact."

"Bull." Jim's eyes are hard and serious on his but they're not his captain's eyes- they are warm, and embracing, and filled with the life and spirit and laughter that makes up so much of James Kirk. "Bones, you think that little of me?"

He stops, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You really think that I'd call someone so terrible my best friend? That I'd pick _anything_ but the best for my _Enterprise_? I thought you respected me, McCoy." He's teasing, but he's serious, too. Bones lowers his eyes, shy suddenly, uncertain how to react to the praise that Jim hands out so rarely but so honestly when he does. His shoulder is squeezed, firmly, warmly.

"C'mon, Bones." He says it softly, even tenderly, and his heart is in his voice. "You and Spock, you'll always keep me together. I know it, and I think Spock knows it. I just need _you_ to know it."

And when he turns, Jim is smiling openly and his hazel eyes are pure liquid gold again, but in the shining way this time, in the breath-taking, sharp way that he's never seen on anyone else ever. "Jim, you can't make that-"

A hand, in his face. "Yes, I can. _I'm_ the captain, remember?" He grins impishly at Bones. Then he yawns hugely, and weaves, and before he can collapse backwards McCoy is lowering him back to the bed.

"….not done with you." He mutters, as McCoy hypos him and pulls the blanket over his curling form. Jim sleeps like a cat. "Need you, Bones." He whispers, falling further into sleep. It's not the first time he's said it. (McCoy doesn't know it, none of them do, but it won't be the last.)

But either way, it's enough. Jim _needs_ him-reckless, stupid, fool hearty, brave, strong, golden Jim _needs_ him. Always has. It's McCoy's job, to be there. It's his _pleasure_ to be there, to stand quietly in Jim's shadow, in the shade of his wings, and be ready to catch him when he stumbles. (With, of course, a certain pointed-eared half-breed somewhere to the other side, doing the same thing.)

Because maybe McCoy won't always be able to save Jim.

But he'll always be right there to try.


End file.
